His eyes searched my face, wild and unfocused. “I—I don’t know,” he said, and the hesitation sounded like a lie. That was when the warehouse door slammed open. Footsteps pounded across concrete. “Walter!” a voice shouted. “Walter, what’s going on?”
The manager came skidding to a stop, red-faced and furious, staring at the cuffs, the cruiser, the small crowd forming behind us. “He’s a suspect,” I said, keeping my grip firm as the man—Walter—shook beneath my hands.